“One gig is better than a week’s worth of rehearsals.”

Before I became a musician in college, I played high school sports. I was good at baseball — the lead-off man. And I got better with every game I played. But I was mediocre at basketball — a “benchwarmer.” And I got worse with every game I didn’t play. We benchwarmers shared a complainy adage as we felt our skills atrophying at courtside: “4 minutes in a game is better than a week of practice.”

That was how I felt half-way through 2020, when the Music Biz went dormant while I released my dozenth album, The Beast Is Back. I had quit my 19-year day-job, sold my house and invested much of the nest egg in my music biz reboot. A double-album, some new gear, advertising — I sunk quintuple digits into promotion & branding. I penciled in 75 gigs. Plus, I acquired a dozen new students on my teaching docket. I was ready to rock and/or roll.

Then, bam! The Covid hit. Every gig cancelled and every student on hold. Would my tangible skills, intangible assets, and newly re-warmed connections atrophy like my basketball skills?

Some venues put money and ingenuity into outdoor gigs. It was promising. But they were understaffed and under-attended, and unsure if they had resources enough to pay artists.

My album was released to a void. Maybe the Beast would not be back after all.

But determined overcompensation often gets a job done, substantially, if not elegantly. Things turned around in 2021. Musically and biz-wise, it became my best year of this century. The variables that multiplied my own spastic efforts into success came from: (I gotta make sure I don’t bury the lede here, so, starting with my loving, supportive partner Katie — who is also, for real, a qualified branding expert, graphic designer, social media consultant, project manager, etc. So I have distinct advantages.) the venues themselves, my colleagues, my friends & fans, family, my students and their families, new technologies and a little help from the public sector.

We were all in this together.

Zoom showed up. Everybody seemed to have the same idea, to make things happen in our lives in spite of the Virus — in the Digisphere if not the RealLifesphere. Parents got their kids back into activities as best as possible. I bought a canopy and a propane fire pit, and advertised masked backyard Covid-safe lessons — rain, snow or shine — complete with therapy dog. I lowered my rates radically.

Speaking of lowering rates, I started calling venues and offering to play for free. I had been woodshedding. I was better than ever — at least in my lonely practice room. I took voice lessons from Darcy DuRuz and found new singing chops. I had a good album, which I was hogwild trying to promote. Then came the streaming gigs, and the PayPal tip Jar. Then the Venmo tip jar. Obviously, these virtual tip jars were lovely for generating income that I am grateful for. But what really floored me was discovering how many people from all over the country (the world even) remembered me after so many years, tuned in to listen, and tossed in digital coinage to keep me going at it. I reconnected with old friends and colleagues — through the tip jar of all things.

A couple venues took me up on the free gigs. But here’s the thing: Nobody wants to be the venue that doesn’t pay artists. So they paid me what they could, which wasn’t bad at all. (Actually, it was pretty good.) And I was absolutely determined to raise my professionalism and artistry far above all my previous incarnations. Paradoxically, at the industry’s lowest ebb, I was operating at my highest level.

A few venues really went to bat for me. First it was Dublin Pub in Portland, when JT gave me gig on their patio, with my close musical piano friend Mike Walker, which humbly amounted to our CD release party.

The Beast Is Back CD release patio gig with Mike Walker at Dublin Pub in Portland

(This was a special blessing for me, because I had years ago lost my place on the Dublin’s roster of regulars.)

In Central Oregon, it was the new owner of Sisters Depot, Deb Yannariello who propelled me forward with a New Years gig, exactly a year to the day after I quit my day job. This was my first New Years gig in 2 decades. (Going back to Eichardt’s in Sandpoint, Idaho.) Honestly, I’m not really a New year’s gig kind of artist. I’m not popular enough to get a good one, and I don’t usually celebrate. But Deb had a business plan, and I have been so honored by be a small part of that plan. (Also, I was the artist willing to play in 31 degree mountain air — my coldest gig ever.) I finished the year with a dozen Depot gigs, plus another near-dozen at her other location 503 Uncorked in Sherwood.

Eryn Ross & Deb Yannariello of Sisters Depot

Just up the McKenzie River, at the center of a community recovering from the devastation of the 2020 forest fires, bright, enterprising folks turned what used to be a convenience store into the McKenzie General Store & Obsidian Grill Restaurant — a “gathering place'.” They gave me a handful of twilight beergarden gigs. I could not resist bringing my friend Mark Ransom (from The Mostest) along as a duo partner. Mark, also the director of Bend Roots Revival Festival, has been a singular champion Shipe-music, keeping me active in Central Oregon as both performer and educator. (He does this for a lot of his fellow artists, a true community-man.)

Mark also hooked me up with Andy Fecteau’s Church of Neil held at Worthy Brewing each year to benefit regional Music & Arts Education. Being part of all those musicians jamming all-Neil-Young-all-nite… By the end of 2021, it’s like I live in Central Oregon, feeling part of music scene for the first time in this century.

Also: the streaming Songster-in-Rounds and the Zoom song-circles. Artichoke Music’s Virtual Village (hosted by Jon Lee) for one, connected me to artists not just in the Pacific Northwest, but Kerrville, Minneapolis, Nashville, etc. The thing I loved about it, is that it was a great equalizer. No matter how far along or nascient the artists’ career, they were all just lonesome songsters broadcasting from their home studios, offices, bedrooms, even kitchens. And they all took each other seriously, talking about where the tunes came from and what they felt like. (Sisters Folk Fest songster host Beth Wood opens her virtual circle with footage of a campfire.)

And speaking of Sisters Folk Fest… That young baseball kid I used to be had a high school friend, Brad Tisdel, who followed the same trajectory, and he is in fact the festival’s founder/directory. He has graciously kept me involved as a venue/stage manager for a six years. (Two years of which were cancelled due to the aforementioned fires, and the Covid.) In 2021, Brad paired me up serendipitously with Lilli Worona, fiddlin’, singery-songwriting talent who joins me now and then, raising my music up to a level that might be the best version of Shipeacoustic that I can remember.

It’s been a hard couple of years, but the pandemic created the most universally, mutually supportive environment for independent artists than I have experience in my 35 years of doing it. I got good reason to write a happy song every now and then.

How the Pandemic Saved My Music Biz